


both want something new (i take the sky, you keep the ground)

by brokendevil



Series: prompts, one-shots and other drabbles [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, F/F, Strangers on a Train Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokendevil/pseuds/brokendevil
Summary: “Work or pleasure?”“Both, I’d hope,” she repeats, amused. “You?”“I’ve never been before,” Clarke admits and it’s an almost out of body experience that makes her sit down on the seat opposite this intriguing woman; a woman who, in truth, hasn’t said more than thirty words to her. And yet. “Definitely not work, but I’m not on this train with the sole intention of seeking pleasure either.”The woman, dark and mysterious and with a hint of danger, pouts. “Shame.”





	both want something new (i take the sky, you keep the ground)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I haven't read this through and it's absolute trash but I was bored and ignoring my real life work so you got this instead.

It smells expensive and it makes Clarke’s nose curl a little, her lips twisting in an offensive sort of way and she rubs the back of her neck as she thinks--for the ninth time in the last four hours--what she has done, what series of events, have led her to this exact moment in time. 

Outside of the window the scenery passes in a bored, almost surreal, blur and it's almost too monotonous to keep her eyes focused on it. But the train ride is long and Raven has long since passed out next to her, her head tilted onto Clarke’s shoulder in an exhausted slump, and when she turns away it’s much the same. The people in the carriage  _ look  _ expensive and Clarke ponders if that’s what the scent is; expensive perfume and expensive tastes and expensive lives. 

She’s new to this. Her father, years earlier, had made a breakthrough in aerospace engineering but it had cost him a lot-- _ his life,  _ she reminds herself hesitantly. It cost him his life--and it turns out that lives are worth something. Something, according to his business, that was well in the millions. And while the Griffin’s had never been poor, or even hard off, they had never been this rich before either. As a surgeon, the top in her field of neurosurgery, Abby Griffin always provided well for the family and Clarke had luxuriated in it. After the passing of her father, and the windfall that came with it, Clarke had nothing left to wish for and she rebelled instead. 

But rebelling comes with a price tag too apparently and Clarke wonders, for a moment, if her mom remembers what she looks like or does she struggle much like Clarke does. 

“Drink, Miss?” 

Clarke looks up at the voice and takes in the little uniform. It’s cute, topped with a tiny little bowtie that makes her smile, but it sends off money vibes and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to get away from it now that she’s so far in this world. “No, thank you,” she smiles but just as the woman moves to walk away, Clarke changes her mind. “Sorry, no. Can I have a whiskey please? With ice.” 

The woman gives her a kind chuckle and Clarke blushes a little at the noise. It’s been a while since someone has laughed because of her and Clarke has to think when the moment was that she stopped being funny, or carefree, or exciting in general. Even this trip was because of someone else and Clarke lets herself miss the person she was before she lost her best friend. 

“Ma’am, your Macallan,” the girl notes and places the small tumbler down with a napkin. She’s pretty, Clarke notes, and she smiles in return as the woman returns to full height and pulls out a little notepad to jot something down. Her eyes flit to Raven who has tilted her head back now that it isn’t resting on her shoulder and she bites back a laugh at how her mouth drops slacks open. “Will that be all?” 

She nods and reaches for her bag. “Yes, thank you. How much?” 

“Oh, it’s complimentary,” she says and Clarke nods, still unsure. This world isn’t what she’s used to; her father taught her that hard work is rewarded with great things but nothing comes for free. “Two drinks of your choice.” 

Macallan isn’t cheap though, Clarke knows that very well, but she shows no real signs of caring and instead she give her a coy smile in embarrassment. She seems to realise that Clarke isn’t going to keep the conversation going and turns to continue down the aisle with her trolley. Blue eyes follow for a long second but the temptation of the drink in front of her proves too much and Clarke lifts it to her lips, sipping lightly. 

When she turns back to the window it seems like the landscape is just the same as it was a moment ago. 

* * *

The time on the train tells her that there is another hour until they reach their destination and Clarke stands from the comfortable leather seats, surprised to note that her legs didn’t stick to it like they do on the trains in New York, and she wanders over to the interactive map that shows the steady pace of the train along the track. 

They’re surrounded by green on the map, and outside of the windows, and Clarke thinks she’s seen enough nature to last her a lifetime. She prefers buildings; high buildings, ones brushing the sky, ones that reach for the stars and stretch up higher than the Heavens. She likes the feeling of being lost in the middle of a crowd, of being the insignificant millionth person, of being unknown and unneeded. 

The forests and woods and mountains look lovely, sure, but they look too quiet. And the idea of being able to hear her own thoughts is absolutely terrifying. 

She left once, when things grew to be too much, and it had almost destroyed her. 

“For the fastest train in America it sure is taking it’s time,” she wonders to herself, her own voice startling her, but it’s the soft laughter to her left that captures her attention the most. When she turns it to meet the amused eyes of a brunette, similar in age to herself, and she lets out a flustered laugh at being caught talking to herself. 

The woman is stunning; honestly stunning. The angles of her face capture the sunlight perfectly, her hair is full and deep, her eyes swimming with barely concealed mirth. In all honestly Clarke doesn’t think she’s ever,  _ truly,  _ seen someone as pretty as this woman in front of her and it makes her smirk. She’s well aware of her own beauty, she isn’t lacking in suitors, but she still checks her clothing at being in the presence of this girl. 

“I’ll be sure to pass your complaints on,” she says and Clarke doesn’t even have to look at her to be able to hear the smile in her voice. It’s transparent in her tone but, Clarke thinks, it almost sounds rare too and she doesn’t know how she knows that. “It won’t be long now, I’m sure.” 

There is something in the way that she says it that makes Clarke stay and act like this is a conversation rather than a fleeting moment between two passengers and she steps closer to the spacious booth the woman is occupying. “Have you taken this train before or are you just trying to make me feel better about being bored on the most luxurious train I’ve ever been on?” 

“Both,” she smirks and her long fingers play with the base of the glass in front of her. It’s filled with a clear liquid that Clarke is pretty certain isn’t water, judging from the measurement, and she’s suddenly filled with a need to know the taste of it, perhaps because she’s busy wondering about the taste of this stranger too. “I’m quite the fixture on this train, I admit. I barely feel the time it takes anymore.” 

Clarke glances at the table but unlike a few of the other passengers, herself included, this woman has nothing in front of her to keep her occupied. Blue eyes scan around and the woman blinks at her for a few seconds, letting her eyes wander, before she takes a polite sip of her drink. “Work or pleasure?” 

“Both, I’d hope,” she repeats, amused. “You?” 

“I’ve never been before,” Clarke admits and it’s an almost out of body experience that makes her sit down on the seat opposite this intriguing woman; a woman who, in truth, hasn’t said more than thirty words to her.  _ And yet.  _ “Definitely not work, but I’m not on this train with the sole intention of seeking pleasure either.” 

The woman, dark and mysterious and with a hint of danger, pouts. “Shame.” 

Clarke shivers a little at the implication that single word holds but the woman does nothing but than bring the glass to her lips again and swallow down anything else she might have said. 

“Another Macallan?” 

Surely not, Clarke thinks, but then they are well into their last hour on the train and she looks up at the waitress with only a brief hold on the stranger's green eyes. “Please,” she asks and the girl acquiesces easily, moving to her cart to grab and pour out her drink of choice. “Would you like one?” 

She tries to lead the stranger on with her question,  hoping she fills the blank with her name, but she simply shakes her head kindly and gestures to her drink that easily has two fingers left of alcohol left. “I’ve hit my limit,” she admits and Clarke sits,  unsure if she means her alcohol limit or if that is her second complimentary drink. “Thank you.”

She leads on too, now, waiting for Clarke to give up but she can play this game, she’s aware that she’s  _ amazing  _ at this game. Ruthless even. In the past Clarke knows she’s left girls and boys in their beds with sore backs and aching legs and no recollection of a name being mentioned at all. “You’re welcome.” 

“Macallan,” interrupts them both from maintaining eye contact and Clarke’s cheeks flush a little as she realises they’ve have a witness to this little back and forth going on. “We’ll be terminating shortly. Would you like me to wake your friend?” 

Green eyes flick up to Clarke and she feels them on her almost immediately. She’s nice for offering but a newly awoken Raven shouldn’t be exposed to the public and the waitress--hostess?--has been nothing but lovely.“No, I’ll get her soon.” 

“You came with a friend,” hums from across the table and Clarke wriggles a little at the voice, a deep huskiness that has been stoking a fire inside Clarke ever since she’s heard it, and she looks up. “Shouldn’t you be sat with her?”

“She’s asleep.”

“She’s your friend.” 

“You’re more interesting,” Clarke says and it’s less of an admission as it is a fact. They’ve barely said anything to one another, she doesn’t even know the woman's name, but she’s intrigued. Needy for more. “What work are you travelling for?” 

She bites her lip and it looks like she doesn’t want to admit anything to you but then something flashes in her eyes and you can see the exact moment she decides to take a risk on you. “I own land,” she waves her hand like it’s nothing but she’s on  _ this  _ train, the train that smells like money and wealth and excess, and she holds herself in a way that suggests she hasn’t been dropped into it but rather she’s lived it for years and years and years. “I like to ensure it’s being treated right.” 

“You’re very young.”

“There’s no age limit on success,” she shrugs and, finally, finishes her drink. She licks at her lips but there’s a shine on her lower bow that Clarke stares at as she decides whether she’s going to tell her the woman it’s still there or help her get rid of. 

Clarke knows attraction. She’s felt attraction. That hot, heavy, throbbing desire that screams to a person to get out or get off and do it as quickly as possible. It comes with heavy grinding on the dancefloor or after a nice meal with drinks and candles. It’s the instant knowledge that the person in front of another is aesthetically pleasing and the type of person someone might want to get to know. 

It leads to sex and carnal desires and Clarke  _ loves  _ attraction.

This is fucking chemistry. 

This is  _ more. _

It’s electric and exciting and Clarke hasn’t felt this before. Especially not with a person who stares more than they speak and strokes their fingers over the glass in front of them like it’s some kind of foreplay.

“How long will you be there for?”

“As long as it takes.”

Clarke sighs because, it seems, this person enjoys the way they never answer a question easily and it shows in the glimmer of their eyes and the smug shift of her shoulders. “Will you be taking the train home?” 

“Who's to say that I won’t be there to stay?” Clarke rolls her eyes a little at the avoidance and takes a long swallow from her drink, enjoying the warmth that it spreads in her chest. The woman makes no moves to offer more to her question and Clarke narrows her eyes at her, mostly in playful banter, but she doesn’t particularly react. 

“I guess I wouldn’t know,” Clarke gives and she places her glass down onto the napkin provided. Feeling bold she lifts her eyes and captures green ones once more before biting her lip. “I’d like to know though.”

Her chin lifts once and Clarke watches her eyes give her away again as she decides to answer truthfully. “I’d like to tell you,” she starts and runs her finger around the glass, her eyebrows pulling together as she clearly thinks. “But I will be there until my duties are fulfilled. I suppose we could find a way to find one another again though, couldn’t we?” 

“We could,” Clarke smirks softly, her head nodding once, and she swallows down the remaining dregs of whiskey that’s being diluted slowly with the ice inside the glass. “Will you tell me your name?”

She ponders for a second and then, swiftly, shakes her head at Clarke in a way that ripples through her. “No.” 

* * *

Between the two it goes quiet and Clarke takes the time to look back outside of the window again. The scenery has changed, but only slightly, and Clarke takes in the dark wooded areas that the train is flowing through. It’s pretty, very pretty, and it seems to capture the other womans attention too. She moves her head to the left and Clarke takes a moment to really appreciate the slope of her jawline and the sharp angles on her cheekbones, her pouted lips capturing her attention further. She really is a beautiful, beautiful woman and Clarke wonders what she looks like in comparison. 

She wonders if the woman has glanced at her too while she was looking away.

She hopes so.

“You never asked me about the pleasure,” she says and Clarke jolts a little. The train is so quiet, so silent, that when nobody is speaking it simply glides along effortlessly. 

She turns back to the woman and notes the pull to the corner of each lip, tugging enough that Clarke edges to bet it’s a teasing smile. “What pleasure?”

“You asked if I was on this train for business or pleasure and I told you both,” she notes casually and Clarke blinks slowly, leaning back in the booth, and tries to pretend she isn’t surprised by the turn of conversation. “You only asked about one.” 

Clarke laughs softly, once. “I only cared about the answer to one,” she says and delights in the sharp turn of the woman's head, the raise of her eyebrows. “You’re a stranger. Your pleasure is your own.” 

“Is it really pleasure if it’s mine alone?” 

Licking her lips, Clarke shrugs. “I’ve never had an issue by myself.” 

The womans eyes open wider, like she wasn’t expecting an answer at all, but she looks continously amused by Clarke and the blonde can’t help but wriggle a little in her seat at the image. 

“Noted,” she says and Clarke nods, satisfied she’s won that one.

* * *

For a train ride that seemed to have taken half her lifetime to get her to here, it’s suddenly moving much faster. When she looks at the time again the red numbers indicate to her that there is just under thirty minutes remaining and all she’s learnt about the other woman is her face has been constructed by Zeus himself and the word ‘pleasure’ sounds like an orgasm when it leaves her mouth. 

“How long are you staying?”

Clarke looks from the clock and back to the brunette with slow precision, fully aware that the slow blink of her eyes and the tussle of her hair are just as devastating as the jawline and cheekbones of the other woman. “As long as it takes,” she repeats with cheer, her eyes bright.

“Mockery is not the product of a strong mind,” she scowls but it’s flirtatious and Clarke flutters at it. She looks almost abashed at her previous words and it makes Clarke snicker slightly, playing with this woman she has just met and is so willing to spend the rest of her day with. 

“Maybe, but it’s funny,” she shoots back and watches the glimmer flow back into the other’s eyes, both of them sitting in amusement of something that really isn’t that comical. They’re sharing it though and Clarke likes it; even if this is fleeting, even if she never sees this woman again, she likes it. “But really I don’t know. A week, perhaps. Maybe more.”

The brunette seems to ponder this for a second, lips pursing. “So if you’re not heading out for work  _ or  _ pleasure, what is your business for this trip?”

“Adventure,” Clarke says without really knowing why she was on a train with a beautiful stranger and heading to a destination that was as much a mystery to her as the woman in front of her. She blushes as she looks down to her hands for a second before returning her gaze. “Something new. I needed to get away, be my own person. You can choose.” 

“Are you not your own person?”

She stops at that, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t think you know me well enough to ask me that.”

“If we never meet again what’s the harm in me knowing?”

She has a point, Clarke thinks. And the girl in front of her is as open as she is being and it’s kind of freeing. She can rant and rave and wave her hands and this woman, this beautiful stranger, may remain nothing but a person she thinks she remembers meeting once. “Ask me another question,” she says instead, because she doesn’t have an answer to the first one. She hasn’t had one in a long time. 

“What do you do for business?”

_ Nothing,  _ Clarke says with her eyes. She has enough money to do nothing and still have change left over. She used to draw and play chess and watch medical documentaries for fun. There used to be plans; plans for Clarke to be a paramedic and to go to college and fall in love.

But then her dad had died and the accident was so traumatic that they weren’t allowed to view his body and Clarke can’t remember if he was dark blonde or brunette anymore, and it’s painful. It’s so painful.

“I’m still working on that one,” Clarke admits and the woman in front of her doesn’t flinch. If she judges her, Clarke doesn’t see it in her eyes and instead she shrugs her shoulders and waits for Clarke to continue. “Right now I’m happy sitting here with you, if that’s okay?”

“Yes,” she doesn’t hesitate though and Clarke swallows as she feels the sensation as the darker girl crosses her legs beneath the table. “Will you tell me your name?” 

“No.”

* * *

It’s not hard to notice the clock counting down and Clarke sighs at the knowledge she needs to go back to her little booth soon, that she needs to wake Raven and they can start this little week away of theirs. It’s needed, a break from real life and commitments and boys who  _ think  _ they can get away with whatever they want because they soft eyes and softer hair. Because they’re a good distraction and they know the right things to say to make a person forget their dead parent.

The girl seems to notice and blinks once, twice, three times before committing to speaking. “We’ll be arriving soon,” she says, and a moment later there’s an announcement telling them just that. Clarke gives a little smile at that and the intriguing girl sends one back, genuine and soft. 

“I should go back to my friend.”

It’s sad that they haven’t had more time, that they’ve not had the chance to get to really know one another, but Clarke like this. The anonymity, the mystery. It’s like the girl is wearing a mask and is still completely weak and exposed and Clarke enjoys it more than she thought she ever would. 

“Yes,” the woman says and a polite smile overtakes her features as the woman from before arrives to take their empty glasses. Clarke looks at her and wonders if the perfect smile exists because if it does it seems to be permanently on this woman's mouth. It would be endlessly fascinating if Clarke didn’t have an absolutely breathtaking woman  looking at her like she currently was. “It was lovely meeting you.”

She leads off again but there is hope in her eyes this time and Clarke cannot resist. “Clarke,” she says and she could have lied like she has in the past but it doesn’t feel right, not with this one. “Uh, Clarke Griffin. Just, well, in case you were wondering.”

“Lexa,” she says but something lights in her eyes, a knowledge that she has Clarke’s full name at her disposal and she isn’t sure if she enjoys that feeling. 

But now, Clarke thinks, she knows this beautiful stranger's name and it fits her so completely that it sort of shocks her a little. “Like Cher or is there more to your name?”

_ Lexa  _ grins in a way she hasn’t done the entire time they’ve been talking and Clarke inhales sharply at the sight of her white teeth and the little crinkles at the corner of her eyes. “There’s more,” she acknowledges and her eyes dart away, just for a second, before they return back to Clarke. Dark and sexy and Clarke shudders. “I’ll tell you more another time.”

“You seem sure we’ll have another time.”

The girl nods, confident. “I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I’m going to be in your presence, Clarke,” she says and the way she says it, like she  _ owns  _ it, sends a deep heat throughout Clarke’s body that settles in her stomach. She’s assured and steadfast that this isn’t the only time the two will see one another and Clarke believes her. 

“Well,” Clarke rises from the chair, aware she needs to wake Raven, and steps away from the little booth with a smirk that she knows destroys worlds. “May we meet again, Lexa.”

She says nothing back but when Clarke makes her way back down the carriage she’s aware that one set of heated eyes don’t leave her. 

* * *

 

“This is wild,” Raven exclaims and Clarke nods, distracted, as waves of people disembark the train onto a pristine platform. Above them are dark screens, a few arrival and departure areas on them, but there is no solid clock or time and Clarke narrows her eyes a little at it all. It feels clinical, surreal, and she presses her teeth together. “Fuck, this is going to be amazing.”

There’s a tug on her arm and Raven manhandles her to a quieter area, needing to get her bearings as they work out where they need to be, and Clarke finds herself glancing around again for a face. That face.  _ Her  _ face. “It’s sterile,” is all she says in reply and Raven rolls her eyes annoyed.

“Loosen up, Griffin. This is supposed to be fun.”

“I’m fun.”

Raven scoffs and jams her hands into her pockets. “Prove it,” she challenges and Clarke bristles at being called out. She hates when people do that and Raven is no exception. She’s more than what they think she is, she holds more power than they give her credit for. She just needs the reason, any reason, to show it. “This is us bonding after that sham of a relationship we were both unwillingly--and unknowingly--in, okay? Let’s just have fun and go a little crazy.” 

“Not too crazy,” Clarke mumbles but Raven is already moving on, walking towards a woman who looks just as happy as the woman on the train did. 

It’s there she sees her. She’s still in the same clothes but she’s not alone now; there’s a woman, short and tight lipped next to her, and a giant of a man with a well trimmed beard and what looks like a tattoo on his face. Clarke’s eyes widen because the soft, though intimidating, girl seems to have gone and has been replaced with a straight-backed poker faced woman.  And though she can’t hear her she can see the energy she exudes; she can practically taste the power, the command, the leadership. It’s almost intoxicating but Clarke ignores it, proving stronger than she thought. 

When her eyes flit over to where Clarke is she shows nothing and it’s not like Clarke was expecting a dramatic moment or anything but a smile would have been nice. 

“Listen, our guide is coming so look excited,” Raven nudges her but Clarke is transfixed as the little group make their way over.  Next to her Raven is practically vibrating but Clarke hears nothing but the click of heels and the sound of the engine of the train behind them starting up again. “God, I’m so excited. Be like me.”

“Hello,” Lexa greets and her eyes don’t leave Clarke’s, the only real evidence that they know one another. There’s a silent conversation being had, one that Clarke wishes she could really understand, but at least she’s looking at her. She knows nothing about this woman, absolutely nothing, and yet it’s like breathing again when their eyes meet.“My name is Lexa Woods and I’d personally like to welcome you today. Unfortunately the owner couldn’t be here to greet you all and I hope my substitution isn’t lacking.”

Raven rocks up on her toes amused. “There’s absolutely nothing lacking about you,” she flirts and Clarke scowls to herself as she tries to ignore the heat that begins to build in her chest.

“Let me show you around,” Lexa offers and the two follow her up the pristine escalator, Clarke’s eyes taking in the starkness of the building as Raven talks technology and advancements. 

When she opens the door Clarke isn’t surprised by what she sees but it still makes her quiver in anticipation. She’s heard the stories; tales of debauchery and murder and illicit affairs. Of women so wanton they seem to step straight from the pages of the fantasy section and of men so desperate for notoriety they’ll do anything to get it. 

She knows about it, and she’s heard about it, but she’s never quite understood the enormity of it until the sight before her is revealed. Acres and acres of prairie land lay before a high window and it’s almost like magic, a thought that makes Clarke laugh to herself in wonder, and she hears Raven gasp at her side.

“Welcome to Westworld,” Lexa says and Clarke blinks up at her, eyes wide. “Will you be staying for business or pleasure?” 

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I know there's a lot of open ends here. But. Also. I suck, but you can ask me anything at my Tumblr: brokendevilwrites.tumblr.com


End file.
